


Caring for Sunflowers

by afewmistakesago



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, Mutual Pining, No Magic AU, all that jazz, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewmistakesago/pseuds/afewmistakesago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Gold has walked by Game of Thrones every weekday for the past six years. Belle has worked there for a year and half. They meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caring for Sunflowers

He had walked by Game of Thorns, previously F•L•O•W•E•R•S, everyday for the past six years he’d lived in Storybrooke, Maine. He had seen her through the window the past year and a half - give or take a few days. Five hundred and forty days, if he wanted to be exact, which he normally did. Adam Gold was an accountant, and thinking of things as numbers and figures made sense to him.

Every morning, he woke up, showered, got dressed, and walked to work. The town square wasn’t far from the City of Storybrooke’s town hall where he did the majority of financial figures for the mayor. Across from Game of Thorns was a small coffee shop, where he purchased a muffin or a bagel and a medium black coffee. His total would be $8.42, and he’d tip the barista to make it an even ten dollar transaction. Then, he’d sit at one of the outside tables, with the lid off the coffee so it would cool, reading a Daily Mirror that the coffee shop supplied for free each morning.

He hadn’t meant to notice her. But, it was hard not too. Every morning, a friendly-faced brunette would unlock the shop door, sometimes carrying one potted plant or a whole cart full of flowers. The shop’s exterior was all glass, and he could see her restocking and checking the shop’s flowers. She would smile as she did it. He didn’t mean to stare, but it was habitual to glance up and see her climbing a stool to reach a high shelf or dancing as she arranged flowers into beautiful bouquets.

She would fall one day if she wasn’t careful, he thought absently in the back of his mind.

He would see her on his way home, as well. The flower shop was open late on Wednesdays and Fridays, and he noticed that if she was not helping a customer. she was always perched - unprofessionally, he thought - on a counter, nose in a book. The other days, he walked by as she was locking the shop up, and they would nod to each other. It felt like an unspoken tradition.

Sometimes she would smile and wave, and he would return the motion. He was too afraid to say something. The chance she would not say something back was too high, and Adam didn’t want to risk it. He was comfortable with where their relationship stood - that is, they were friendly, but didn’t even know each other’s names.

For eight days, not including Saturday and Sunday when he did not go to work, a tall, gruff man had been the one opening and closing the store. He did not nod or wave to Adam. Adam began to fear the worst for this woman - what if she’d been hurt in a car accident, or was horribly sick, or - she could be on vacation or moved away. It was not his business to know, after all, and they were hardly anything more than acquaintances, not even on a first name basis.

Then, on a Wednesday morning, while sipping his coffee, Adam saw her. She was in a Game of Thorns t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, hair high up in a ponytail. She was carrying a large box, almost larger than her, pushing the door open haphazardly with one hand. He almost felt compelled to stand and help her. Instead, he watched, noting how she finally got the box into the shop. She went back to close the door and saw him, winking.

He felt himself jump back a bit, frustrated at himself for being caught staring. He managed a wave back, then quickly turned his newspaper to an article on the importance of voting for a sheriff in the upcoming election.

Adam was distracted during his entire work day, looking blankly at the spreadsheets he’d been sent. He kept thinking about the flower shop woman winking at him. Surely it didn’t mean anything, other than she had seen him staring. She probably thought he was rude for not coming over to help her when she’d clearly been struggling with the large box, or thought him strange for staring. The past was in the past, but he could not help but dwell on it.

By 10am, he’d convinced himself to go into the flower shop and talk to her.

He had talked himself out of it by lunch.

At 3pm, he was sure he would go in.

4:15pm told a different story.

At closing time, he was sure. He would go in, he would apologize for not helping her, maybe even introduce himself.

Adam changed his mind about this approximately four more times on the short walk from the town hall to the flower shop. He stopped in front of the door, taking a deep breath, glancing from his polished shoes and into the store. She was sitting on the counter, next to the register, legs crossed, reading a book, her hair now in a messy bun.

He stepped in.

She glanced up immediately, putting the book behind her and hopping off the counter. “Hey!” she said, smiling and walking towards him, though he’d barely entered. He’d never been in the flower shop before, and the colors were overwhelming. Adam hadn’t realized how the windows diminished the colors. Reds, pinks, purples, yellows, all in different sizes and colors with sales and occasions and pre-made and custom options. It was a lot to take in at once.

“I’ve never seen you come in,” the woman commented, her smile genuine. “Guy Who Waves At Me Every Day, it’s nice to officially meet you,” she said, and her name tag read “Belle”.

 _Beautiful._ It was fitting. The distance from the cafe to the store hadn’t allowed him to see how pretty her eyes were, or how naturally stunning she seemed to be.

“Um,” he began, not sure where to begin. In all his panicking, he had not thought of what to say to her.

“Did you forget Valentine’s Day?” she asked conspiratorially, leaning towards him.

“What?”

“We have discount bouquets over there,” she pointed, “and some of the roses, to your right, still look decent, but I’d cut you a deal.”

“I don’t-”

“I swear, we get more traffic the day _after_ Valentine’s Day than we do on Valentine’s Day,” she said with a laugh. He must have looked baffled, because her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you know your wife’s favorite flower? I can help you pick something. If you’d like. I’m rambling now, I’m sorry.”

She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and he stammered. “I’m not married.”

How had Valentine’s Day slipped his mind in his course of worry? He suddenly realized, there had been free cupcakes with pink icing in the break room, but he’d been so nervous about seeing Belle it had totally slipped his mind what they were for.

Her mouth quickly formed an “O” and she tried to cover her mistake. “I’m sorry, I just assumed, most of the men or women in today have been here to get apology flowers.”

It was silent for a moment, and she began to speak again. “I’m not, either. Married.”

Adam nodded. “I’m Adam,” he said, realizing he’d never introduced himself.

“Belle,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry I -”

“Don’t be.”

“Well,” Belle said, brushing her hands on her jeans, “If you’re not here for I-Forgot Flowers, what can I do you for?”

“I wanted to apologize for not helping this morning,” he said, feeling like a weight had lifted off his chest. “I could’ve crossed the street to help, but-”

“It’s okay,” Belle said, “You could’ve been hit with a car on your way to me, and that would’ve been too much paperwork for my first morning back.”

He wondered if her sense of humor was always so odd. And so endearing.

“I did notice you were gone,” he admitted.

“Vacation with some friends,” she said, smiling at the memory. “My dad owns the shop, really, but he’s been busy the past couple years so I’ve taken over. He was here while I was gone.”

So the older man was Belle’s father. From what he could tell, they were nothing alike.

“That sounds nice,” he said.

“It was,” she confirmed. “Now it’s back to the old flower shop.”

“It’s a nice shop,” he said, “Six years in this city and I’ve never stepped inside.”

Belle’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “So I guess today is like a holiday. Adam’s First Time Inside Game of Thorns.”

“Sounds like a good holiday to me,” he replied, slowly feeling more comfortable with her.

“And perhaps, not your last time in?” she asked, looking cautiously hopeful.

“Maybe,” he returned, looking away from her.  Their little routine could be entirely broken now that they’d met, or perhaps everything would continue as normal. “I’ve never even seen Game of Thrones.”

She shrugged. “Not a requirement to stop in. Dad just changes it to whatever pop culture reference he thinks is clever. But I like the show.

“I see,” he said, making a mental note to begin recording it. His eyes landed on a small display of sunflowers. “These are nice,” he commented, motioning to the yellow flowers.

“Yeah, but crazy hard to maintain in February,” she said, rolling her eyes and walking to the display, picking one up.

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm. But I won’t bore you with the details.”

Adam didn’t think it could ever be boring to listen to Belle speak. She could tell him the ups and downs of caring for sunflowers and he would listen again and again. “I’ll take a few,” he said.

She nodded, carefully selecting the most cheerful of the bunch and wrapping them with twine. Belle walked to the cash register, ringing him up. “Thanks for stopping in,” she said, and he nodded.

Just as he was about to leave, he heard her say his name. “Adam?”

She was quiet, almost like she did not want to be heard. He turned back to her.

“Every morning, you sit at the cafe and drink a medium coffee, sometimes with a muffin and sometimes a bagel, and every afternoon, you wave to me. It kind of felt like part of my daily routine to see you and to smile.”

He wasn’t sure why she was telling her facts about himself, so he just waited for her to continue.

“I just - I’m glad we met. Finally. Officially.”

“Me too. Belle?”

“Adam?”

He was not sure whether it was her overwhelming beauty or the smell of all the flowers effecting what he said next.

“Do you want to join me? Tomorrow? For coffee. And a muffin, if you want, or a bagel. My treat.”

“That would be lovely,” Belle said, and it sounded like she really meant it. So he left, sunflowers in hand, feeling like the sun was just beginning to really shine for him.


End file.
